Party in the womb!

Last night I felt more movement at once than I have felt so far. It tickled and rumbled and tumbled and made me laugh out loud! It was the greatest feeling in the world. Mark came over and pressed on my belly and they either moved away from the outside, or they got shy, because they stopped after that. I can't wait until next time they do this!

They are my living children

Mark and I had an argument last night, the first in a long time.

I started it. (I always do, it seems). Of course, I accused him of starting it, and that's when it escalated. What it all came down to though, when we sat down to discuss things rationally, was that we are both really afraid.

For me, the babies are here, they are real, I can feel them moving inside me, I can see my body changing. They aren't a coming attraction that's four months away, they are my living children. They are a presence in my life as real to me (in some ways, more real) as any other person. Naturally, my life is changing as a result of this presence--my eating choices, my clothing choices, and the big one, the choices of what to spend money on when.

For Mark they are still an abstraction--an obsession of mine that he doesn't understand or relate to. He sees them as part of the future, not part of the present. For this reason, he doesn't change his current behavior and habits because it doesn't matter yet.

But it matters to me, and I think while he doesn't understand why now, he understands that it does. I just have to hope he'll understand why eventually. I feel drained and worked up all at the same time. I hate arguing with him.

Love is easy, why can't marriage be easy too?

Up and out!

A couple of days ago I was plagued with severe pain on my left side, right along the hip bone. Not only was it painful to sit, stand, lie down, etc. but it was also very tender to the touch and felt almost bruised. I called the doctor's office in worry, and they told me to relax and suggested tylenol, a warm bath, and walking around.

That feeling, which went away after a tylenol, a warm bath, a trip to target, and a nap, was my uterus freeing itself from my pelvis. It's now up in my abdominal cavity, sticking all out front! I'm much, much more comfortable now in the lower part of my body--at least until it fills up all the room up top and starts moving down again! :)

Only a pregnant woman...

Carries a laundry basket upstairs, sets it on the bed to start sorting it, climbs into bed next to it, and sleeps for 4 hours, wakes up, looks around in confusion, and decides to go back to sleep rather than put the laundry away.

The clothes make the woman

I don't have to tell any woman who has been pregnant of the sour taste that fills your mouth when you see this in the mirror:

Since your pants no longer fit, you pull on a pair of sweats, or yoga pants. Since the idea of wearing a thong is anathema to you, and your now bulging ass no longer fits in your pre-pregnancy underwear, your VPL becomes something between comedy and obscenity.

You hastily switch to a pair of maternity pants, but since they don't fit right, they fall down the first time you sit down and you know you can't wear them out of the house. So, the tragi-porni-comic yoga pants return.

Next you pull on a t-shirt. An old sorority shirt, or a race t-shirt. It's long enough to cover your waistband, but not your rear, especially since your somewhat bulging (but not yet obviously pregnant) belly is pulling it forward. You flinch at the sight of what appear to be love handles (though you know it is merely your abdomen accomodating your swelling uterus) as you inspect the view from the side.

No force on earth could make you desperate enough to inspect the view from the rear.

You give a last, longing glance to your dainty high heels, knowing that if they could speak, they'd berate you for even imagining pairing them with the slovenly yoga-pants and t-shirt combo. Then you reach for your flip-flops, once a favorite pair of weekend shoes, now your apparent jailors. They seem to grin up at you, saying, of course you picked me, with my stains from your dirty feet and my soles chewed by your puppy. You had to pick me, you had no choice.

You reach for your purse--no, it doesn't match your flip flops, and you are beyond caring. The tubby stranger in the mirror is not the real you.

So stop wearing her clothes, get your ass to the mall and buy some cute maternity clothes that actually fit. Don't be afraid to buy maternity underwear and a pair of jeans that reminds you of your pre-pregnancy days. While you're at it, skip the t-shirts and buy some stylish, feminine maternity blouses, be they the earth-mother type, or the career-girl type, they will make you feel so much better about yourself, and you deserve this much.

You've dealt with nausea, constipation, hemmorrhoids, varicose veins (only more of those in the future, duckie), splitting headaches, food aversions, food cravings, and cramps that would make your period feel like summer vacation. You deserve to look pretty, you know. You owe it to your body, which is working incredibly hard to produce new life, and you owe it to your spirit, and more than anything, you owe it to the woman you were before you got yourself knocked up. She'll never be the same, but she's still in there, and she'd like to see you taking care of yourself.

Every minute is a milestone

Today I officially entered the second trimester. (if we want to be exact about conception times/dates, about 25 minutes ago!)

Of course, this is a huge milestone, and one I am so thankful to have reached feeling relatively good.

But sometimes we focus so much on these big milestones, that we forget that there is a new one every minute. Every minute I am a minute more pregnant than I was the minute before. Every minute has been longer since I threw up. Every minute is one more minute closer to bringing my jumping beans home.

While I want to enjoy being pregnant, I am so filled with anticipation--I really cannot wait to bring the beans home. I look forward to holding them in my arms, and teaching them how to be good little people, and watching them grow. I can't wait until they have names, and a birthday, and familiar little faces. I can't wait to see if their eyes will be blue or green.

I don't want to wish away my milestones, and I want to appreciate every moment, but I am so impatient!

Pregnancy Induced Hysteria

Sigh.

I thought perhaps, as I was so mild-mannered in the first 12 weeks of pregnancy, that this pregnancy symptom had, in fact, skipped me over. After all, I had the nausea, the fatigue, the porn-star boobs, etc.

But the past two days have given new meaning to the phrase "laugh until you cry."

It can happen when I'm reading a funny book--I come across something that ickles my funny bone, I have a little giggle, and then 'm reaching for the kleenex. This is not laughing so hard that tears stream out my eyes--rather, it's I can't enjoy a little humor without getting all emotional about it.

It can happen while watching comedy on TV. Who knew that Entourage was such a tear jerker? But when Johnny Drama smoked a little weed and got himself a case of the fear, I got a little case of the giggle-tears.

But the worst is when I'm reading or watching something sad. And I start laughing. This has yet to happen in public, but I am sure I will be mortified when it does. Eventually the laughter subsides to tears, but by then I will have guffawed in the middle of something that was supposed to be heart-wrenching, and everyone will look at me like I'm some kind of freak.

"But I'm pregnant" seems kind of lame when you've just reached the part of the half-bood prince where Dumbledore dies, and you can't stop giggling. Thank goodness that one hasn't come out as a movie yet, but perhaps I should put off seeing Order of the Phoenix until after the jumping beans arrive, or at least until I can wach in the privacy of my own home--after all, that one has some heart-wrenchers too, and I don't want to be caught chortling at an inappropriate moment in a movie theater full of children.

I felt someone move today!

There have been times before where I thought I felt something, but wasn't sure. This time, I am 99% positive that what I felt was a baby moving!

I was sitting on the recliner, with my hand over baby B. I rubbed my belly slightly (something I do all the time now) and felt a little bump, bump! inside (not on my hand, but inside under my hand) in response. I tried to do it again, but nothing happened. What a cool feeling though! My little one responding to my touch!

Of course... it could have been gas...

12 weeks, babies!

Depending upon the calendar you choose, this is either the last week of my first trimester, or the first week of my second trimester. Either way, its a milestone I am absolutely thrilled to reach! I'm here, I'm healthy, my babies are healthy, and I couldn't ask for more.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that the morning sickness is gone. gone, I can't believe it! For the past three days, I've been able to eat and drink without fear! This means one thing: the little jumping beans have started using their placentas to produce the hormones they need, which means my body is not responsible for producing the massive quantities of hCG, estrogen, and progesterone that cause the morning sickness.

Now, if only there were a solution for pregnancy induced amnesia, pregnancy induced anxiety, and pregnancy induced clumsiness. Ah well, even those things are tolerable when you aren't throwing up anymore!

Pregnancyis scary!

Yesterday at 3:30pm, I had what i thought was a Braxton Hicks contraction. My uterus got tight, and I was uncomfortable, but I wouldn't have described it as painful. Over the next 2 hours, they started coming on hard, every 2-3 minutes, and painful, like menstrual cramps. They would take my breath away. I called my OB and they sent me immediately to the ER.

Blood and urine revealed no infection. Thorough transvaginal and abdominal ultrasounds revealed no underlying cause of contraction or pain. My cervix was closed. Both little jumping beans were somersaulting and dancing around, making it difficult for the tech to catch their heartbeats, but eventually it was determined that baby A's heartbeat was 154 and baby B's heartbeat was 169. Both appeared healthy and active. My uterus contracted once while the ultrasound was in progress, but no cause was determined. I was well hydrated, and healthy.

I spent four hours in the ER for pain of indeterminate cause, I still don't have any answers for why I was contracting, but I do have reassurances that the jumping beans are healthy. I go back to the doc for a quick peek at everything on friday.

Pregnancy is scary, but scariest of all is the not knowing, and having no control over what's happening.

Everything Changes

Another example of how everything changes when you're pregnant:

Typically, I like to lie down when I read, on the floor, on my stomach, facing the light source, which typically in the mornings is the large east-facing window in the reading room. Petra usually sleeps on the chair while I read.

Lately, laying on my stomach has become uncomfortable, unless I want to actively feel the babies, which I'll admit, sometimes I do. Unfortunately, my bladder and my stomach don't care for the position, so I can only lay that way for a few minutes at a time.

So I've taken to sitting against the arm of the couch, which is not as relaxing for me, but more comfortable overall--for me. Poor Petra, however, cannot seem to understand that it's okay for her to be "at ease" if I am sitting up, so now I read with her undivided attention on me.

Everything changes.

By the way, this is my 100th post to this blog. I never thought I'd still be posting 100 posts later, but here I am. Another milestone for me: 3 years ago today, I ran my first marathon, an event that changed me in many ways--taught me humility, and taught me to be proud of my accomplishments, all at once. It somehow seemed fitting that change be the subject not just of today's blog post, but also of the self portrait I took for the 365 days project on flickr, so I decided to make this post my flickr post and vice versa.

Jealous

In a way, I am jealous of all those women pregnant with singletons with their little bitty bumps. The ones who, at 18 weeks, look like I looked at 8 weeks.

I feel like I haven't had much time to adjust to the changes in my body, and my body hasn't had much time to adjust either. I go through periods where I feel so stretched and sore--and all I've done is lay on the couch all day! Whereas these women are running and going to the gym and not even showing yet!

I am enjoying being pregnant, and enjoying watching my body change, but I'm starting to think I shouldn't look at pictures of other pregnant women. Or, if I do, I shouldn't look at how far along they are. And if they have just a tiny little bump at 20 weeks, I'll just think "aw, how cute, she just found out!"

11 Weeks, 2 Days

Decided to do a series of first trimester portraits today, set up a mini studio in the room which will eventually be the nursery. I plan to do another series before the end of the second tri, and a last series in the third tri, before the birth.

I need to start working on my birth plan--the OB is encouraging C section, though cautiously saying if both babies are head down, I'll be allowed to attempt a vaginal birth. There is so much to consider--do I want a tubal ligation while they are in there, knowing I will still have to take birth control pills to regulate my PCOS after the jumping beans arrive? If one or both of the beans is male, do we want to circumcise? (I say no, Mark says yes). If I do attempt vaginal birth, will I want an epidural (I'm thinking heck yeah! Narcotics, legally, I wouldn't miss it!)

So much to think about...

Both babies doing GREAT!

Had an ultrasound today at 11 weeks, 1 day. Both babies are measuring a couple of days ahead of schedule and looking fantastic, with strong heartbeats and waving limbs. Baby A is the hyperactive one, while Baby B was contemplating hir toes. :)

I was able to relax quite a bit after seeing them dance and wriggle, punch and kick.

And, according to the OB--my uterus is "huge". :D

Boo for insurance companies

My Insurance company has decided that I've had enough Zofran. The pharmacist called and argued with them (he's so sweet!) but they refused to cover it anymore, so I am facing the morning sickness on my own again.

I feel pretty yucky this morning, but I am sipping on a cold caffeine-free coke hoping to bring my blood sugar up and my nausea down.

Boo insurance, boo. :(

She's a Yummy Mummy and We Love Her!

The antics of Becky Brandon (née Bloomwood) and her bank overdraft have been a source of guilty pleasure for several years now. Becky is the heroine of Sophie Kinsella's Chick-Lit "Shopaholic" books, which are silly, indulgent, and downright hilarious. Confessions of a Shopaholic remains one of my favorite giggle-fests in the world.

Kinsella's latest book is called 'Shopaholic and Baby" and as you can imagine, it is just what this expectant mother needed to put the whole baby-mania in perspective. Having seen the disastrous effects of letting Becky loose on the poor, unsuspecting baby industry, I can now plan for the arrival of my own little ones with a little more sanity.

No, its not great literature, but Becky is a Yummy Mummy and We Love Her!

Naming children

About 3 1/2 months ago, we went to Chicago and picked up Hank, our English Mastiff puppy. It took us two months before we went to get him to name him. Knowing my husband stresses over names, I decided to start early with the kids.

I gave him two lists of twenty names last night. He narrowed them down considerably, and I may have to go hunting for more names. However, I think we may have a girl close to picked out. We want to pick out one girl name and one boy name, and then if the twins turn out to be the same sex, we can use the runner up for either.

6 months to go. Please let my babies have names by then!

Parenthood

Holy crap.

6 months from now, I'm going to be somebody's mom. Make that two somebodies. Every once in awhile it hits me and scares the crap outta me.

I know everything will be just fine, but the logistics of getting everything done between now and then are terrifying. Preparing my house is one thing, preparing my body, well that's pretty much taking care of itself, but preparing my life? Preparing my spirit? Those are something else altogether.

I tell myself I don't want to be the kind of parent who insists that her children parrot her every word and thought. I want them to think on their own, be inspired by the things that matter to them--not those that matter to me.

"You can give them your love but not your thoughts, for they'll have their own thoughts" Kahlil Gibran

I want to be the kind of parent who encourages her children to dream big, act big, learn big, and do big.

"we should all keep pretending that our dreams are patent-pending"Jason Mraz

I want to be the kind of parent who when the kid grows up, they look back on their childhood and says "My mom let me...and that made me who I am today" I don't want to be the mom whose kid grows up to say "i never did...because mom never let me..."

I want my babies to grow up knowing that each moment and each day of their lives is as precious to me as my own. I want to give so much value to the minutes and the hours of their days that they feel rich with time.

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"Mary Oliver

Little ones, I'm waiting for you. This time of gathering and reflection is deepening my life for you, opening the doors that you'll need to come through when you get here. Grow, be bold and self assured, I'll be waiting.

30 days left in my 20s

How will it feel to be thirty, 15 weeks pregnant?

When I turned 29, I had recently moved to a new city and I was about to be diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome. I was sad, alone, and feeling very turbulent. How dare age and infertility come swooping in on me at once, attacking my fragile sense of self struggling to make a new city home? I wanted desperately to have a baby before I turned 30, and I clung to the hope that I would get pregnant within the next few months, to make that desperate wish a reality.

As month after month slipped by--in september, I was diagnosed. In October, I said "F this, I'm running a marathon." In November we celebrated Mark's birthday and I had seven false positive pregnancy tests (I never bought that brand again). In December, I realized I would not have a baby by 30, and I cried, for wasting time in my twenties. I cried because I felt like time was slipping away from me faster than I could seize the moments to really live them, I was too obsessed with trying to find hope in bleak circumstances.

In January I stopped crying and I went to the RE.

In February, I allowed them to inject me with radiactive dye.

In March, I learned how to give myself injections.

In April, I decided that it was over. I was done. This was the last cycle, the last time I would literally inject my paycheck into the fleshy skin below my belly button. I thought of the children I couldn't have, with their blond hair and blue eyes like my husband, or green eyes like me. I planned how I would get over these little phantom babies, and I started researching fall marathons and thinking about a trip to the wine store. I stopped trying to bargain with God, because let's face it, God never believes us when we say "If you will give me just this one thing..." Instead, I sat back and said "I can't control this, and I don't want to try anymore."

In May, I was pregnant. I was disbelieving--I had plans now that I could gladly set aside. I was afraid and overjoyed and thankful all at once. And then, I found out that I am carrying twins.

In June, I saw and heard my babies' hearts beating. When I heard the sound like horses galloping, I began to breathe again.

And now its July, and I can ponder how I spent my last year of my twenties before August slips in and seals this decade forever in memory, never to be touched or dipped into except with nostalgia. It was a painful, heartbreaking year. But it was the year with the most hope, the most joy, the most faith, I have ever felt.

Would I live it again? I was strong enough to live it once. But once was enough. Bring on 30.